


Ring in the New

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Get Together, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has no intention of attending Stark's New Year's Eve gala. Thankfully, he isn't given a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring in the New

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing.
> 
> This is dedicated to all the wonderful authors and readers in the Avengers fandom, and the C/C corner in particular. May you all have a happy and prosperous New Year!

 

For too many years to count now, Phil's New Year's Eve tradition whenever he's been in country has been pizza, a six pack, and the Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel, or whatever ridiculous name it's calling itself now. The only thing different this year is the size of the television in his suite at Stark's tower.

Some years, Clint and/or Natasha have joined him, rolling their eyes and laughing at the ridiculous special effects, but this year, they are both downstairs at Stark's overblown gala. Phil received his own invitation, silver and black and red and gold, Mr. Phillip Coulson plus one, and it is sitting with the small stack of unopened holiday cards forwarded from his old address. He spends all of his days -- and most of his nights, now that he's been forcibly relocated here -- with the team and his fellow agents, and he doesn't think one night off is too much to ask.

Phil has, as usual, underestimated Stark's obnoxious persistence. It's just after nine when the television pauses and JARVIS' cultured tones fill the air.

"I apologize for the interruption, Agent Coulson, but your presence is requested downstairs. As soon as possible, sir."

Phil sighs and takes a swallow of his beer. "Tell Stark I'm busy, and that if he interrupts my television again, he and I are going to have words."

"He has threatened drastic measures, sir, if you are not down within the hour."

Low level dread bubbles in Phil's gut as his head begins to throb. "Do I want to know, JARVIS?"

"He says he'll send Captain Rogers up to convince you, sir."

Phil sighs again. Steve's earnest blue eyes are an unfair tactic -- they work on _everybody_ , including hardened criminals and Director Fury, but they are particularly effective against Phil, and Tony knows that. He's playing exceptionally dirty.

He can put an appearance at the party, make the rounds, wish everyone a Happy New Year, and be back upstairs before he's missed more than a couple of episodes. He glances down at his soft, worn SHIELD hoodie, jeans, and socked feet and rests his head against the back of the couch for a moment, closing his eyes.

"Fine. Tell him I'll be down soon," he snaps, and he heads for the shower.

A few minutes later, freshly showered and shaved, he stands in front of his closet, contemplating what to wear. Any of his suits will do for a quick appearance, but it _is_ a holiday, so he reaches toward the back of his closet. The midnight black suit he pulls out is a distinct departure from his standard navy blue D  & G, and he pairs it with a pristine white shirt. Hard work during his daily rehab has brought back most of his muscle tone, and he's regained nearly all of the weight he lost, but the suit is still a touch too big, and he frowns, but there's nothing he can do about it now.

The tie he slides around his neck is one of his favorites, black silk with a subtle crimson design, a past Christmas gift from Clint that he rarely wears because it's too memorable, and Phil can't help the fond smile that quirks his lips as he carefully ties it and smooths it down.

It's nearly ten when he makes his way downstairs, and he hears the music long before he reaches the ballroom -- he's a little surprised he couldn't hear it from his suite, given the volume. He's thankful -- the music means he can smile and nod in greeting as he slowly circles the room, rather than being drawn into inane conversation. A waiter passes, tray in hand, and Phil lifts a flute of champagne off with a nod of thanks.

He nods a hello at Rogers, who is surrounded, as always, by admirers young and old, and exchanges a wry smile with Dr. Banner, who is watching Steve easily work the crowd. Thor and Dr. Foster are tucked in a corner of the room, oblivious to everything around them, and Phil smiles at the sight. Tony sees him from across the room and grins gleefully at him, raising his flute of champagne, and Phil rolls his eyes and raises his own flute, beyond grateful when someone grabs Tony's attention before he can make his way over.

"Phil!" Pepper's laughing voice is unexpected in his ear, and he momentarily tenses and then relaxes. He turns to her with a smile, leaning in so he can hear her, and she wraps her arms around him and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"I'm so glad you came, I didn't think you were going to, and wow, look at you, you look fantastic!"

He chooses not to tell her he came on pain of Captain America's disappointed puppy dog eyes. "You look wonderful," he tells her instead, and she does. She's in a brilliant blue backless dress, her hair done up in a complicated and delicate sweep, and her eyes are sparkling with happiness.

As he watches, they go brighter, and she squeezes his arm tightly. "I'm so -- I'm so glad you're here with us to celebrate the New Year, Phil," she says, her laughter watery as she carefully presses a fingertip under her eye to catch a tear before it can fall.

His own throat is suddenly tight, his vision a little blurry, as he lightly tells her, "Me too."

Someone calls her and she glances away and then turns back to him, rolling her eyes a little.

"Duty calls," she says, letting go of his arm and smoothing the fabric of his jacket. He leans in and brushes his lips over her cheek.

"Happy New Year, Pepper."

"You too, Phil. Find someone to kiss at midnight, or I'll find someone for you."

Phil's very careful not to let his smile falter as he nods. Come midnight, he'll be back upstairs, quiet and comfortable and alone.

He moves on, coming to a stop as he catches sight of the dance floor. Clint and Natasha are dancing to something fast and complicated, and he hides his smile in a sip of champagne. Natasha is in a killer black dress and five-inch heels, putting her at eye level with Clint, and her face is soft and open, laughter in her eyes, and all of Phil's annoyance slides away at the sight.

His life as the SHIELD liaison to the Avengers is exhausting, the work never-ending, and at times the whole team can be irritating as hell, but being part of the initiative has given so much to Clint and Natasha, acceptance and home and family, and in the rare moments when he sees them like this, happy and comfortable, he can't regret any of it.

The song ends and Natasha leans in to say something to Clint, and he turns and catches Phil's eye. His eyes widen as he grins happily, catching Natasha's hand to lead her from the dance floor and toward Phil.

"Coulson!" he shouts as the music starts back up. "You came! Did you finally get tired of watching crappy special effects, or did Tony go through with it and threaten you with Cap?"

Phil narrows his eyes. "Did you give him that idea, Barton?"

Clint laughs and grabs a flute of champagne for himself and one for Natasha. "Nope," he grins, tapping his flute against Phil's before taking a quick swallow. "He came up with that one all on his own."

Clint's eyes are bright and happy, and Phil wonders how many glasses of champagne he's already downed. But it's New Year's Eve, and even the Avengers deserve a night to celebrate.

"Happy New Year, Coulson," Natasha says as she takes a much smaller sip from her own flute, and then she startles him by leaning in and kissing his cheek. He wonders briefly how much champagne _she's_ had. Before he can return the greeting, she has slipped into the crowd, leaving him alone with Clint.

"Nice tie," Clint says with a smirk, and Phil rolls his eyes.

Clint looks amazing in a black three piece suit, his tie black with purple and silver accents, his eyes clear and playful and free of the shadows that have clouded them for most of the year, and Phil glances down into his champagne flute to keep himself from staring.

This is exactly why he planned to stay away. Phil's self-control is legendary, but Clint happy and gorgeous and smiling is entirely too much temptation, and he's not about to ruin the rapport they've spent so much time building with a champagne-fueled, holiday-inspired and completely unwanted confession of love.

A woman in a tiny scarlet dress sidles up to them, flicking a careless glance at Phil before smiling flirtatiously at Clint and clinking her glass against his. "Happy New Year," she says, leaning in close so he'll hear her -- and get a good view of her incredibly low neckline. "Wanna dance?"

His smile is all that is charming and apologetic as his gaze stays fixed on her face. "Maybe later," he says, and her mouth falls open in disbelief before she shrugs, her eyes flashing angrily. 

"Your loss," she says as she stalks away.

"Don't let me keep you, Barton," Phil says easily, and Clint rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"It's a little loud in here," Clint says, and Phil nods. "C'mon, come with me," the younger man says as he turns and walks away from the dance floor. Phil stares after him a moment and then tosses back the rest of his champagne and follows him. He's fairly sure they'll have to walk to Brooklyn to be able to hear each other easily.

He's proven wrong when Clint pushes through the double doors at one end of the ballroom. The bar is crowded and filled with the sound of voices and laughter, but as soon as the doors to the ballroom close, the volume of the music is dampened considerably.

Clint grins as he leads Phil to one side of the room, grabbing him another flute of champagne and swapping it out for his empty glass.

"Much better," he says as he leans against the wall, shifting so that Phil can put his back to the wall too, and they watch the room for a few minutes in silence. "So which episode did JARVIS interrupt?"

They talk Twilight Zone for a while, and then move onto Dance Moms and Pawn Stars, and they are discussing the relative merits of Storage Wars vs. Storage Wars: Texas, when Phil glances down at his watch to see that it's after eleven. He drains his champagne and smiles apologetically at Clint.

"I should get going," he says, and Clint's eyes widen.

"What?" he blurts. "You can't go! Come on, Coulson, it's not even midnight, what, are you going to turn back into a pumpkin or a mouse or something?"

"Clint -- "

Clint grabs another glass of champagne and pushes it into his hand. "Come on, stay a little longer. At least until midnight."

Phil raises his eyebrow as he hands his empty flute off to a passing waiter. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Agent Barton?"

Clint rolls his eyes. "Yeah, like you'd ever let that happen."

Phil's not drunk, but he's definitely feeling a slight buzz. He should really go, but Clint's eyes are pleading at him, and he finds himself nodding against his better judgment. "Little while longer," he acquiesces, and Clint grins.

"Hey, did you see what Barry found last week in San Diego?" he asks, and Phil shakes his head -- he hasn't gotten there yet, today's marathon taking precedence over catching up on his DVRed shows.

They've moved past reality shows and onto football and the distressing lack of hockey, and they are in the middle of a spirited discussion of the lockout, having drawn in a couple of other guests around them, when Phil glances down at his watch again and realizes it's nearly midnight. He excuses himself from the conversation and heads to the bar for a glass of water -- the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a corner with Clint while everyone around them is singing _Auld Lang Syne_ and happily kissing. He's sure Clint can easily find someone willing to greet the new year with him.

"Coulson! Hey, Coulson, wait up!" Clint's voice comes from behind him, and he closes his eyes and sighs briefly before turning.

"Nearly midnight, Barton," he says with a smile. "Better find someone to kiss before it's too late."

"Already have," Clint says, and his answering smile is oddly soft.

"Oh?" Phil glances around, questioningly, and when he glances back, Clint is staring at him, his gaze intense and uncertain and full of... longing? Hope? Phil's heart jolts to a stop and then starts racing, and all he can do is blink in shock.

"Clint?"

"You have to know, sir -- Phil. You _have_ to..."

"I didn't," he murmurs, shaking his head in confusion. "I swear I didn't." 

Clint steps closer, right into his personal space, and Phil swallows harshly, but he doesn't back up. The younger man stares into Phil's eyes, and he's so _close_ , and his eyes are so incredibly beautiful at this distance, and Phil loses his breath.

"This year's been unbelievably crappy," Clint says, his voice low and shaking, and someone props the door open so that the sounds of _Auld Lang Syne_ pour in from the ballroom. The people around them are starting a countdown. It's thirty seconds to the new year. "Next year could be so much better, Phil, right from the start. Please tell me I'm not wrong. Please tell me you want this too."

Phil laughs in disbelief, grabbing Clint's arm when he flinches and backs up a step. "So long," he says, and his voice is shaking too. "I've wanted it for so long."

"Three! Two! One!" comes from all around them. "Happy New Year!"

Confetti is raining down around them and Clint is laughing as he grabs Phil by the shoulders and pulls him in.

The kiss is clumsy at first -- they are both smiling into it and blinking confetti out of their eyes, and their noses bump, and Phil laughs as Clint nips at his bottom lip. Then Clint deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing in to tangle with Phil's, and Phil groans low in his throat as he pulls Clint closer, one hand splayed against the younger man's back, the other curled around his neck to hold him close. Clint presses closer, his hands stealing under Phil's suit jacket to settle warmly on his waist, and the quiet, helpless sound he makes when Phil pulls back to breathe nearly undoes Phil where he stands. He rests his forehead against Clint's, heaving desperately for air, and Clint beams, his own breathing hard and unsteady.

"I think we're done here," Clint pants. "I think maybe we should head upstairs and watch the rest of your marathon."

Heat surges through Phil at Clint's wicked grin. He nods and grabs Clint's hand, twining their fingers together, laughing when Clint blinks in surprise as Phil tugs him towards the door.

"2013 is going to rock," Clint observes as they hurry through the ballroom, and Phil squeezes his hand in agreement and wonders what Tony will make of the anonymous thank you gift basket he's planning to send. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

**END**

 


End file.
